


Holding On

by nirejseki



Series: Leveraged Interference [1]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), Leverage
Genre: Angst, Gen, Grieving, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mick is Depressed, Someone Needs To Give Mick Rory A Hug, Spoilers Through Episode 2x6, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 03:19:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8605234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nirejseki/pseuds/nirejseki
Summary: Mick Rory first met Eliot Spencer on a cooking forum and got into an argument about the best way to braise beef if the only thing you have to work with is dynamite. They've stayed in touch off-and-on ever since.(season 2x1-2x6 as a series of conversations, mostly about Mick's grieving process)





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a little pissed at various team members on Legends right now and it shows.

_Do you remember that recipe I gave you three years back? I lost my copy._

Mick checks his phone and grunts in amusement.

Making a phone capable of receiving messages from 2016 was easily the smartest thing he’d ever done as Kronos.

 _Yeah_ , he texts back. _C4 from kitchen supplies, y?_

_That’s the one. Can’t remember which order the bleach goes in._

Mick snickers and types up a reply.

“Mick, that had better not be porn,” Sara says, walking by.

Seriously? Has Mick _ever_ watched porn in public? He’s nuts, not a pervert. That shit’s just rude. 

_Thanks, man. Owe you one._

_Np_ , Mick replies, feeling nostalgic. He hadn’t hear from Spencer in months, which wasn’t unusual for them. They had a very off-and-on relationship. _Tell me how u made that chicken picante in San Francisco that one time & we’ll call it even._

_Come by Portland and I’ll show you._

_Can’t_. Mick sighs.

_Prison? Can come bust you out._

Mick feels his lips curve upwards. It’s good to have friends. He’d almost forgotten the feeling.

_Time travelling spaceship._

_So you're in Cardiff?_

_No, real._

_WTF. And you didn’t invite me?_

_U were on ur honeymoon_

_It wasn’t a goddamn honeymoon_

_Sober Spencer says that_ , Mick types, mood lightening. _Drunk Spencer talks about P’s hair & H’s eyes._

_Fuck you._

Mick’s fingers still on the keypad. He knows his response to that – it’s a friendly argument they’ve had ever since they first met on that cooking forum and got into an argument about the best way to braise beef if the only thing you have to work with is dynamite – but, well.

Implying Len would kill Spencer for trying doesn’t really work anymore.

He pauses too long, though.

_You guys split again?_

_Mick?_

_Shit. That bad?_

_Gone_ , Mick types in, the lurching feeling of emptiness coming back. His old friend, by now; as familiar as the flame. He’s never really without that feeling nowadays. Sometimes, rarely, he can forget for a little. He can lose himself in the flame or the fight or the mission and not think about how the best part of everything he is isn’t there anymore. 

The team’s noticed, of course, but he plays dumb and brutish and uncaring and he thinks they may have started to buy it. It’s a small ship: it’s not hard to overhear Stein joking with Jax that Mick fixing the ship would lead to immediate disaster, or Sara’s pointed comments about his usefulness (or lack thereof), or even Rip’s endless lectures before he fucked off to wherever the hell he went. Ray said he wanted to be partners, then promptly wandered away to focus on growing himself as a person; he checks in once in a blue moon, which is at least more than anyone else. Though now he has Nate to focus on – they seem to be getting along pretty well. 

_What’re you going to do?_ flashes onto Mick’s phone.

Mick bites his lip. No one’s asked him that; everyone started off by assuming he was mourning and moved on to assuming he was too dumb to mourn. Sara’s made an image of him in her head that has nothing to do with the reality, and he guesses that she’s the leader now. He’s always made a point not to work for people who buy into the myth of who he puts himself out as, because those people always think of him as expendable. 

As _meat_.

Whatever. Not like it matters. 

_Finish the last job_ , he replies. That’s all he’s doing, really; marking time till the end. He promised Snart he wouldn’t shoot himself, a promise made long ago, and anyway he can’t step on Snart’s sacrifice like that, but Snart picked the team over him, didn’t he? Snart liked them. So Mick will carry on, step by grudging step, until he finds an appropriately heroic way to follow Snart to whatever paths he walks now. 

Even Snart couldn’t hold it against him if Mick dies to save them. That’d just be hypocritical of him.

 _You should come visit_ , Spencer writers. _Portland. I’ll send you the address._

_Can’t. I told u._

_Shore leave?_

_They don’t believe in it._

_Bad gig._

_All I’ve got left._

_You shouldn’t be in the field right now_. Spencer would know. He’s had his dark times, lost people; he knows that emptiness like an old friend. That emptiness that Mick’s always known but that Snart could fill just by being himself. 

Spencer was like Mick before he found his current team: one step away from just wanting it all to go up in flames. But then he found them, his P and his H, and even N and S who still visited sometimes, and he’s filled his empty space up with them. 

_It’s the job_ , Mick replies.

_Damnit, Mick!_

_I’ve got nothing else of him left_ , Mick writes back. 

_Then stay_ , Spencer immediately replies. He’s practical-minded like that: he knows you can’t stop someone from wanting to not be anymore, but you can at least take away their gun. 

Or knife, whatever. Spencer was always weird about guns.

 _I ever show u my new flamethrower?_ Mick asks, thinking about it.

 _Not in person_ , Spencer replies. _But I saw the news from Central City. You have a very distinctive style of arson._

_Yeah, and u have a very distinctive type of noticing distinctive things, Sherlock._

_It’s a gift._

_A gift to annoy the rest of us, sure._

_Speaking of gifts, let me give you the picante recipe_ , Spencer writes. _You can write back in tears once you’ve failed to make it._

_Screw u. I won’t fail._

_Wanna bet?_

_Bring it, knife boy._

\----------------------------------

_H wants to make pumpkin beer b/c it’s ‘seasonal’._

_LOL_

_It’s not funny._

_It’s_ hilarious, _I don’t know what u mean_ , Mick writes back. _Did u get the dinosaur BBQ I sent u?_

 _P thinks you’re an alien and/or angel_ , Spencer tells him. _She was v happy. H wants me to tell you that your camera phone quality sucks and that he’s going to figure out how you photoshopped in the dinosaur._

_I didn’t._

_I know that_ , Spencer replies. _You don’t lie. But H doesn’t believe in time travel._

_Doesn’t he believe in aliens?_

_H is v complex person._

_Your bf, man._

_One word: supervillains._

_Fair._

_You still in the 1940s?_

_Yeah, we went back. Sara’s officially the leader now_ , Mick offers. _Instead of unofficially. Stein tried to be leader for a while, no idea why. Also, did u know about Justice Society of America?_

_…that’s classified._

_I got to roast Nazis._

_I hate you._

_They’re very distinctive when they burn_ , Mick writes with gleeful malice.

_Hey!_

_Hahahahaha._

_You suck sometimes. Now what do I do about the problem?_

_Tell H that pumpkin beer is a hipster thing._

_He_ likes _hipsters._

Mick thinks about that for a long moment.

_I’m so sorry._

_Yeah, yeah. Less sympathy, more suggestions._

Mick thinks about it for a moment. H is a nerd, Spencer has been clear about that much. Nerd, nerd, _nerd_. Snart would have known in a second what to do with him. They would’ve gotten along, if Mick and Spencer had ever moved beyond texting. Now they never would.

Hmm. 

_Tell him pumpkin beer is cliché_ , Mick replies. _And that no one has successfully created butterbeer yet. Experiments will keep him too busy to do anything else._

_That’s so dumb it might actually work._

_No kidding_ , Mick replies. _I ever tell you about Snart and the lembas bread fiasco?_

_Only about fifteen times. Nothing ‘felt’ right, huh?_

_I used six bags of flour making those batches_ , Mick types. _Six whole bags. The crew ate nothing but for three weeks._

_They didn’t try to kill you?_

_Too afraid of Snart_ , Mick replies, shaking his head. _Anyway, need to go back to waitering now._

_Waiter? You? God, why? I wouldn’t hire you, and I like you._

_Screw u, I’m v good._

_You hate people and you like to tell them why their food choices suck. Being a waiter gives you a chance to do that in person. Why would anyone do that?_

_Breaking into a Nazi nightclub._

_Couldn’t you just burn it down from the outside?_ Spencer has well known feelings about Nazis. 

_I like the way you think. But no, orders are to infiltrate._

_And you’re going as waiters?_

_No, just me. Others are guests._

_That’s crap._

_I guess I just give off lower class vibes_ , Mick writes, and flips his phone shut, sliding it back into his pocket. 

He likes to think he can feel Spencer’s anger radiating from his hip the entire bar fight.

Mick _does_ manage to sneak into a corner to get a video recording of Stein singing _Edelweiss_ to a bunch of teary-eyed Nazis first.

Spencer makes the mistake of watching it on one of his jobs, and blows up Mick’s phone afterwards with multiple variations on _You made me blow my cover laughing you dick; now P and H think I’m feverish!_

Serves him right.

\--------------------------------------------

“Okay, hold on,” Mick says with a sigh, typing in the words. “No, no, _hold on_ , damnit.”

The old man waits.

 _I can’t believe you’re in the Edo period_ , Spencer writes.

 _I haven’t seen any ninjas yet_ , Mick complains to him.

_Screw ninjas; I want that recipe for soba!_

_I’m typing it in, goddamnit! Wait five seconds!_

_Unagi was also popular in that region at that time_ , Spencer reports. _Charcoal broiled, apparently._

 _The guy is still explaining how I’m fucking up the rice-making process_ , Mick says. _Ur going to have to wait._

_Rice is important._

_Ninjas are important. There, sent._

_Send more._

_You’re insatiable._

_That’s why I have both a P and a H_ , Spencer points out. _Hungry ones, too._

 _Who will never notice the difference if you make food authentically Edo-period or not_ , Mick points out.

_I will owe you a favor for every recipe you send me._

_You’re a slut for historical Japanese food_ , Mick replies. _How did I not notice this before?_

_You didn’t have access to historical Japanese recipes before. I can’t believe it took you this long to visit Japan._

“Sorry,” Mick says to the old guy. “Could you go over the rice thing again? My friend is…” Mick tries to find the right word. “…hungry.”

The old guy laughs, as do his three buddies. All of whom have come over to explain to Mick the proper way of – anything. 

“He said something about unagi?”

Four heads nod enthusiastically.

Mick listens for a few minutes.

Jesus.

 _So there’s apparently some debate on the proper preparation method_ , he tells Spencer.

_!!! Send all of them._

_I’m working on it! Hold ur horses. My typing speed isn’t the best._

_Recording?_

_Yeah, good point. Gimme a minute._

“Okay,” Mick says, flipping on the video recorder. “Now start from the top, will you?”

He sends the video to Spencer a few minutes later.

_U also want the recipe for tokoroten?_

_YES_

_U know that it’s just seaweed, right?_

_SEND NOW_

_LOL_

“So,” Mick says to the men. “The team still thinks I’m asleep, so I’ve got a little longer. Talk to me about vegetables.”

“Mushrooms first,” one of the men declares.

“Man after my own heart,” Mick says sincerely. “Then we need to talk sake.”

“Sake is serious business,” another one of the men says wisely.

“I’m not leaving this era without getting to see one of your sills,” Mick says. “I’ll trade you fine-grain salt for it.”

They all nod approvingly.

Mick always did know how to make a deal.

Later on, Mick sends Spencer the pictures he took of the knocked-out ninjas and deletes the image off his phone. It’s not like he wouldn’t love to have the memento, but he knows himself well enough. He can’t afford to actually have any ninja memorabilia on him.

He keeps turning to his right, phone in hand, ready to tell Snart about it. If he keeps looking straight ahead, he can sometimes pretend Snart’s still there, just waiting, smirk on his face as Mick goes on and on about the ninjas. 

Ninjas are cool.

But telling Snart about them – rubbing it into his face how cool they are, how _totally real_ they are – would have been even better. 

He can see Snart’s face now, eyes rolling but lips twitching, his habitual icy demeanor gone because it’s just the two of them and he’s got no reason to hide. Snart would suggest a movie marathon to celebrate: every crappy ninja movie in existence, the worse, the better. 

_Keep that safe for me, will you?_ he asks Spencer, despite knowing there’s no real point.

Snart’s gone. There’s no one left that Mick needs to tell. 

He’s all alone, except for this stupid mission. 

_Will do_ , Spencer replies. _Just hold on a bit longer._

A bit longer.

The rest of eternity stretches out before Mick, empty and vast and pointless. He’s going to have to walk a thousand miles just to get somewhere where maybe, at last, they’ll let him go to where he belongs. Right back at Snart’s side.

Sure. 

He can do a bit longer.

\----------------------------------

 _Civil war zombies_ , he texts Spencer as he sits in the medlab, waiting for Ray and Stein to come in with the treatment Ray’s working on in the other room.

 _Tell me you’re kidding_ , Spencer replies. He must be working in his restaurant instead of on a job with his team; he’s been really good at answering Mick’s texts right away recently.

_No. Also, I got bitten._

_Shit._

_Ray’s working on a vaccine._

_Vaccine comes before infection; he’s working on a cure. How do you even end up in these situations?_

_Time travel. I really don’t want to be a zombie._

_Obviously. You wouldn’t get to season your food first._

_That’s not funny._

_It is._

_Okay, it is. But still._

_A bit out of place. How are you doing?_

_Mick?_

_Mick, answer me._

_Mick._

_[1 missed call]_

_Mick Rory, text me back right now._

_[3 missed calls]_

_Someone tell me what’s going on, damnit._

_[5 missed calls]_

_No need to blow up my phone_ , Mick types in shakily. _I’m okay._

_Don’t leave me on a cliffhanger like that._

_I was temporarily zombified._

_…good excuse._

_Ray’s vaccine worked._

_Vaccine is before infection; cure is after. But still, I’m glad._

_Me 2. U were right._

_Right about what?_

_I didn’t want to season my food._

_I hate you sometimes, you know that?_

_Yeah. Wouldn’t want to do that again any time soon, though._

_I can imagine_ , Spencer replies. He doesn’t put any emoji to indicate he’s rolling his eyes, but Mick likes to think he can figure out anyway. _Just wait until tomorrow; who knows what new and exciting traumas await you?_

 _Tomorrow will be just as bad as today_ , Mick writes, his mood souring.

 _What’s next can’t be as bad as turning into a zombie_. A pause. _It does hurt less, you know. Eventually._

 _It doesn’t actually get better_ , Mick replies. He knows that lesson from his family. _It just scars._

 _I know_ , Spencer says. _But sometimes you find a new reason to stick around, and sometimes you make one up for yourself. So don’t do anything stupid._

 _Not going to throw away what Snart gave me_ , Mick says.

But he does, later that day. Not his life, no. But something else that Snart left him.

Ray is alone and hurting and vulnerable and Mick thinks – maybe. Maybe now that Ray’s not busy fixing his suit or helping run the ship. Maybe if Ray’s starting from scratch too, he’ll have room in his new life for Mick, too.

So he gives him the cold gun and he gives him a word that he hasn’t used for anyone but Snart, not in decades, not even when they were split up. Not during the fire, not during Kronos. No one but Snart has ever been his partner. But – well, Spencer’s right. Sometimes you find a reason to stick around. 

Sometimes you make one for yourself.

God, Mick just hopes he doesn’t regret this.

\-----------------------------

He doesn’t go to the room he’s claimed as his own, stuffing it full like a warehouse. Hendrix’s guitar on the wall, pin-ups from the 40s down below, boxing shit lifted from Mohammed Ali’s extras – his little _fuck you_ to the team, which never asked how he got any of it. 

His _You would have liked this_ to Snart’s ghost. 

His _I’m trying_.

His _this isn’t home without you_.

No, he goes to the sub-basement, pops open a doorway that Len found ages ago, ducks through to the armory that nobody uses, though it’s clearly been accessed by someone else recently. Maybe someone else needed a dusty place to go when everything else seems to be too much.

Mick’s tongue is numb and his hands are shaking. The world keeps having black spots around the edges, and all the sounds of the ships – the thumping and grinding that normally reassures him that he’s surrounded by machine – sounds distant, almost like there’s a wall of glass between him and the sound.

He doesn’t know why.

He does know why.

He sits in the corner Snart used to curl up in when there were too many people in the cargo hold and he just needed some peace to make all the noise stop, when his senses were going haywire – when the world was too loud, too bright, too busy – and he just needed to focus.

His hands are shaking.

He needs to do something with them. The plastic ball Snart liked to use to increase flexibility, or that goop Snart found a recipe to mix up in the kitchen, shiny and pretty and went through his fingers like slime; feathers for a light touch or wool for something heavy and scratchy. That squeezing thing that went a different way each time.

He needs to feel something with his hands to get out of his head.

Mick pulls out his phone instead. Snart loaded some apps for him – something with colors, and one that’s a bubble wrap popping simulator that Mick usually finds incredibly relaxing – but he skips over them, goes to the messaging function.

 _I lost his gun_ , he writes, and clicks send before he can erase the written evidence of how thoroughly he’s failed as a friend. As a partner.

 _Take four deep breaths_ , Spencer writes immediately.

Four? 

Okay. Four. Mick can count to four.

He’s having some trouble with getting his breath in deep enough, though; when did that happen?

That’s dumb. He’s not so stupid that he can’t breathe. 

_Okay_ , he writes back. 

_Six seconds in, six seconds out?_

_Yeah, yeah._

_You somewhere quiet?_

_Yeah._

_How many fingers do you have in your left hand?_

What sort of dumb question is that?

_Five._

_Have you counted?_

Mick holds up his hand and counts.

_Five._

_What about the right?_

_Still five._

_How do you make a turkey sandwich?_

Mick blinks.

_U know how to do that._

_Explain it to me anyway._

Okay. Maybe Spencer is having memory issues or something? Mick can sympathize. After Kronos – 

No.

Not thinking about that.

 _Well, first u need a turkey_ , Mick writes.

_What spices?_

_Depends on the type._ Mick thinks about it. _Garlic, rosemary, maple. That’s pretty standard. Roast at high heat, obviously._

_Good. Keep going._

Mick’s almost all the way through describing the proper way to keep turkey meat moist and the bread – homemade, of course – from being soggy when he realizes that Eliot Spencer does not need lessons in how to make a turkey sandwich.

He erases what he was going to write and just writes _Thanks_ instead.

Not many people can diagnose a panic attack via text message.

_What happened?_

_I gambled and lost_ , Mick tells him. _Except I used the second to last thing I have left of him to do it._

 _What happened?_ Spencer says again, because he knows Mick’s not that stupid or heartless.

 _We had to destroy Ray’s suit_ , Mick writes slowly. _He was down about it. Didn’t know who he was._

_Ray’s the one who offered to be your partner then ditched?_

_He just got busy_ , Mick writes. _It wasn’t personal._

_He offered to be your partner. Even if it wasn’t personal, I’m taking it personally._

_I don’t._

_I’m doing it on your behalf. So his suit got destroyed._

_I didn’t really take too well to his offer of partners_ , Mick confesses.

 _Given his timing, I understand why_ , Spencer replies. _You decided to take him up on it?_

_You were right. I needed to give living a real shot before I gave up on it. So I gave him the cold gun._

_Why?_

_He was feeling useless. Like the group didn’t need him anymore._

_Isn’t he a super genius or something?_

Mick feels his lips curve up despite himself. Despite the emptiness trying to eat him from the inside out.

 _Yeah_ , he replies. _He forgets that sometimes. I gave him the cold gun so he could have something that made him special again._

Mick pauses. Licks his lips. 

_He wanted to make it better. The gun, I mean._

_Are you kidding me?_

_No._

Every time Ray had said it, Mick had felt a sliver of ice slide into his chest like a well-placed shiv. Snart being bricked over like he’d never even been – it was intolerable. 

It was what Mick was doing.

Mick couldn’t think about what he was doing or else he’d never succeed in doing it. Snart sometimes talked about Mick getting another partner if Snart was unavailable for some period of time; Mick hadn’t ever bothered to take him up on it, of course, but he’d known Snart wouldn’t object to him trying. Hell, Snart would be the first one urging him to move on, because Snart never wanted Mick to die. 

That’s why he said, “Forgive me, my old friend,” right before he – 

_No_.

Spencer has been blowing up Mick’s phone while Mick was distracted.

_What the hell is wrong with him?_

_Has he ever had a friend? Ever?_

_WTF, seriously._

_You’ve got to come visit sometime. I want to have a word with him._

Mick chuckles instinctively at the thought of Spencer having a Word with someone; it was always a delight to watch. 

The act of chuckling made his lip ache; he raises a hand to it and his fingers come away bloody.

He must have bitten his lip open sometime. He’s not sure when.

Why isn't he wearing his gloves?

Oh. He's still in the tux from earlier.

 _He’s not that bad_ , Mick writes.

_Still want to talk with him. So he tried to fix the cold gun?_

_No_ , Mick writes, and closes his eyes in pain. _I told him not to. Told him he had to try to be cool if he wanted to use it._

 _He would have been proud of you_ , Spencer writes. He doesn’t mean Ray.

Yeah. Mick had had the same thought, even as he said the words. 

_We had to do a stakeout._

_What era?_

_80s DC._

_Ugh, never mind. No recipes I want from then._

_Yeah, that’s what I thought. Anyway, he showed up in Snart’s old jacket._

_WTF?! Where’d he even get it?_

Mick blinks. He hadn’t thought of that. It was definitely Snart’s old jacket; it was unmistakable – not just the style, but the little tear at the wrist, the stain on the neck. Memories in each crease. When Snart had – _no_ – after, they had given Mick Snart’s things, what little he had unpacked and how much he kept still in the lone bag he brought with him.

Mick had put them –

_He must have gotten them from my room._

Spencer’s next few texts are entirely profanity.

 _No, it’s good_ , Mick protests. _I’m trying to teach him to be a bit more wild side._

_There’s wild side and then there’s respecting a friend’s property, and your Ray doesn’t know the difference._

_He had to be talked into stealing_ jellybeans. __

_Oh god._

_Yeah, I know. Then he crossed the streams._

_Of the guns? Didn’t you tell him not to do that?_

_He decided to be a rebel._

_Against his PARTNER?_

_He’s smart, but not that bright. Anyway. We got into a fight at the White House next._

_Not the best place to fight. Weak foundations; too much glitz on the walls._

_U would know_ , Mick writes, snorting. Of course Spencer had had to fight in the White House at one point. _There was a bomb._

_You disarmed it?_

_Ray did._ Mick swallows. His throat’s weirdly dry. _He had to destroy the cold gun to do it._

_Shit._

_Yeah. Now it’s gone._

_What’d he say?_

Mick frowns. _What do you mean, what did he say?_

Spencer takes a few seconds before responding.

_What did he say to you after he destroyed the gun?_

_Nothing_ , Mick writes back, bemused. _We went back to the ship. They’re trying to figure out what to do about the guy we’re trying to fight. Big brainstorm. I went away. Wasn't in the mood to talk._

_He didn’t say anything? After destroying the cold gun? That you gave him? That was Snart's?_

_No. Should he have?_

_Hell yes he should have!_

_It wouldn’t have helped._

_Doesn’t mean he shouldn’t have said something._

_Maybe he’ll say something later._

_You tell me if he does_ , Spencer writes. Mick checks to see if the phone is actually a few degrees hotter for having to convey the amount of Spencer’s anger in text format, but it isn’t. _You tell me right away._

 _k_ , Mick says, then hesitates. Maybe he’s not being entirely fair. _He did ask me before doing it. I told him to do it._

_Wait, where were you when he was disarming the bomb?_

_Sitting next to Ray. He needed a pep talk about being himself and sciencing his way out of things._

_You were sitting next to an unexploded – no, of course you were. Were you hoping it’d go off?_

_There are worse ways to die_ , Mick says. He’s very tired, all of a sudden. 

He’s been tired for so long he barely remembers anything else.

 _I had a donut_ , he adds. _Chocolate glazed._

It wouldn’t have been the worst way to go out. They’d saved the whole room full of people, after all, and the White House’s plans for nuclear peace. 

Of course, Ray had been there, too. Maybe next time he should tell them that he knows how to disarm the bomb, get the rest of them out of there first. Then he could make his peace before the flames consumed him.

 _You deserve a better last meal than a chocolate glazed donut_ , Spencer writes. _Besides, we still haven’t had that barbeque-off._

_I sent u dinosaur. I win._

_In terms of meat, sure. I still have a better sauce._

_U r delusional. I once got a prison guard to agree to let me out of jail in exchange for my recipe._

_Big talk, no proof._

Mick smiles, feeling his lip split and bleed again. The pain is good. It reminds him he’s still here.

He should go work out, get his muscles sore. Work the meat of his body, since that’s all they need him for, anyway.

He wonders abruptly if they will give his gun to Ray when he dies. He doesn’t have the cold gun now, to make him special. Ray won’t appreciate the beauty of the flames, but that’s the beauty of being dead – you don’t have to suffer the agonizing wounds of your legacy being deleted one slow and painful piece at a time.

Ray’ll probably dismantle the heat gun for something stupid, too, like smoke signaling. Something like that. But everyone will be happy, because what he did saved people or helped him survive, and no one will give Mick’s gun a second thought.

Firestorm can provide all the firepower they need, after all.

 _I know what ur trying to do_ , he tells Spencer. _I’m not staying alive for barbeque. Not even the satisfaction of beating ur ass and making u admit my sauce is superior._

 _No, you’re staying alive until you find a sufficient heroic way to exit stage left_ , Spencer says grimly. _If you come back to 2016, you tell me stat, okay? I will come to you._

 _Will do_ , Mick says.

He should go exercise. Or maybe find that ball Snart gave him, the sensory stim one. 

He doesn’t do any of that.

Just sits back, in the dusty old armory, and closes his eyes.

Wishes he wasn’t here.

\------------------------------------------

 _We’re back in the Wild West_ , Mick reports.

 _Land of culinary delights_ , Spencer replies. _No, wait, I’m thinking of literally any other place and time in history._

_People born and raised in Oklahoma don’t get to throw stones._

_No comment. You know how rare it is to say “back” in the Wild West?_

_Not as rare as I would have thought before discovering time travel._

_Keep me updated, will you?_

_The whiskey here sucks._

_Not that type of update._

_But it really does suck._

_Is it even whiskey, that far out? I assume it’s bourbon instead._

_What’s the difference?_

_There is a huge difference._

_They’re both alcoholic. And made with some type of grain, right?_

_I will find a time ship, go back to the Wild West, find you and_ punch you.

Mick smirks. Spencer probably would, too.

 _You know I don’t buy that dumbass act, right?_ Spencer adds. _You sent me a three-page essay on how sake was made in the Edo era._

 _You can’t serve Edo cuisine at your micropub without having properly made sake_ , Mick types back, affronted. _That’s just wrong._

_‘They’re both alcoholic’ my ass. H is having a love affair with the sake prep right now; I blame you._

_Is it any good?_

_No._

_LOL._

_He’s getting better._

_Yeah, I hear ‘terrible’ is considered better than ‘ungodly awful’ nowadays._

_Hah. Hah. What are you doing?_

_Bar fight._

_You’re texting me in the middle of a bar fight?_

_Bar fight hasn’t started yet._

_Why are you starting a bar fight?_

_No clue. Sara didn’t say, just handed me money._

_If you don’t know why you’re doing it, how will you know if you’re doing it right?_

_They don’t really tell me the ‘why’ anymore_ , Mick replies. _Anyway, go to go – my babysitter just showed up._

_Ray?_

_Amaya._

_The one who tried to slit your throat?!_

_That was weeks ago._

_Not okay. Have you forgiven her?_

_She never asked. She did get me a ninja star._

_…weren’t you the one fighting the ninjas?_

_I was complaining about not having evidence._

_But I thought you said the ninjas you were fighting didn’t have stars?_

_She gave me one of Sara’s extras. Probably thought I wouldn't notice. It’s OK. Thought that counts._

_I wish you’d come back to 2016. That ship’s not healthy for you. Have you had a chance to see your shrink?_

_Not in nine months. And 70-something years of cryo, if you want to be specific about it._

_You really should make some time._

_They don’t listen to me anymore._ Mick acknowledges that it’s partially his fault for pushing them away after – after Snart. He’d played his big-dumb-and-stupid to the hilt, and they no longer came to him with pity in their eyes. He prefers sneers of disdain any day. But one consequence is that it’s a lot harder to convince them to let him go off on his own. _Anyway. Bar fight. Later._

_Later._

Later, Mick pulls out his phone again. _Almost made it_ , he writes bitterly.

_What?_

_Shootout. I was going to lose, but Nate threw himself in front of me._

_He okay?_

_He's fine, after a bit of surgery. He’s the one who turns into steel._

_Right, the one that made H laugh for three hours coming up with superhero names. Don’t let him come back to 2016 – H_ will _hack all the news networks in order to make sure his superhero name is Major Hard Steel. Or something even worse._

Mick thinks about this for a second, then smirks. He’s not going to mention that to Nate.

 _We got to blow up a mine_ , he tells Spencer.

Spencer is quiet for a long moment.

Mick sighs. _Yes, I tried to stick around. Amaya was there, too, and she knocked all the guys out before I had a valid reason to stay._

_I’m glad she’s there._

_She came by just now. Said she could help me control the wild beast inside._

_I’m not glad she’s there. What the hell?_

_My fault. I told her I was an animal that just wanted to watch the world burn._

_Damnit, Mick. You need to not think of yourself that way._

_It’s true._

_It is not true. Snart wouldn’t talk about you that way._

_He knew I wanted to see the world burn._

_But he never called you an animal_ , Spencer points out. _Not once._

Mick has to admit that that’s true. Snart never once thought of him as less than a full person, with all the rights and thoughts thereof. Sure, Snart sometimes played him the way he played everyone else, and Mick took that out on him in anger, but Snart never thought of Mick as less than him. As less than human.

 _Fine_ , he writes back grudgingly. _Not an animal._

_Isn’t Amaya the 20 year old?_

_Probably 23._

_What the hell does she think she has to tell you about controlling yourself that Snart and I haven’t already passed along?_

Mick is surprised into a laugh. He wasn’t expecting to laugh today.

 _Oh, so it’s your professional pride that’s injured_ , he writes back, smirking. 

_She’s 23! What type of mental health expertise does she have? I have several classes in PTSD under my belt, and Snart took enough psych classes to pass his bachelors if he’d only taken them legal. And he kidnapped an expert in pyromania that time._

_I remember that_ , Mick replies, amused. The expert had been rather bemused to be kidnapped at gunpoint only to be quizzed on appropriate treatment strategies for worsening pyromania. Snart had dropped him back off at his hotel afterwards, with a real (if stolen) Rolex as thanks. _He always did overreact._

 _You nearly died_ , Spencer shoots back. _Snart was reacting entirely reasonably._

_That was way before the warehouse fire incident._

_So you nearly died multiple times. I’m not seeing your point. So what does this girl think she’s bringing to the table here?_

_She has a magic necklace that lets her channel animal spirits_ , Mick says.

_And that’s supposed to help fix mental health issues…how?_

_No clue_ , Mick says. _It’s probably just going to be more anger management training, before she realizes I know the playbook backwards and forwards and it still doesn’t help._

_Yeah, except with a side of condescending dehumanization. Wait. Isn’t she from the 1940s? They didn’t even have mental health treatment back then!_

_She was from a small town in Africa before she was recruited by the Allies to fight in WWII_ , Mick offers. _I don’t think she’ll jump straight to institutionalization and electroshock as first options._

 _Recruited by_ which _Allies?_

_Not sure. Brits, judging by her accent, though she’s working with the Justice Society of America._

_Wait,_ that _Amaya? Vixen?_

_Yeah._

_Oh hell no. They picked her up early enough to get the real indoctrination started. Doesn’t her village get wiped out by the British army when it’s putting down an anti-colonialization rally?_

_I have no idea_ , Mick replies. He considers this. Maybe he should tell Nate to look it up and tell Amaya that. She shouldn’t end up like Sara, being taken by surprise. 

_She worked closely with Winston Churchill before moving over to the JSA_ , Spencer tells him. _Winston. Churchill._

Mick racks his brain to think about what Spencer’s getting at here. Churchill, Churchill, famous speeches, WWII, post-WWII…oh.

_The deliberate famine in India because they were 'breeding too fast'?_

_That’s the guy. If he’s still her role model, I don’t trust her with your mental health._

_I’m sure she’s not that bad_ , Mick protests. _That was post WWII Churchill._

_I don’t trust anyone from the 1940s with your mental health._

_I don’t think she knows I’m actually sick and not angry_ , Mick confesses. 

_Damnit, Mick!_

_And I don’t think she knows about Snart, either._

_DO NOT LET THIS PERSON NEAR YOU._

Oh, look, all caps. Spencer must really be steamed.

 _You’re usually the one tell me that I need to try moving on_ , Mick points out.

 _You need to find a reason to keep living_ , Spencer replies. _I’m willing to accept something stupid like ‘has a goal of burnin down London in 1666’ as a reason -_

That’s actually not that bad a reason, as they go. He wonders if he can convince Gideon to pretend there’s an anomaly there.

_But I’m not willing to let someone who doesn’t know anything about mental health, who has never apologized for trying to kill you, and who you report as regular being extremely disdainful of your very presence try to put themselves in a situation where they control you._

_The word she used was ‘tame’, actually._

_NOT BETTER._

Mick snickers.

 _You’re not an animal_ , Mick, Spencer writes. _You never will be one. Don’t let them see you as a victim, but don’t let them make you into a beast, either. I’ve been in the military. I know how they can break people down there. Don’t do it._

 _I’ll think about it_ , Mick replies. At this point, it might be worth taking up Amaya’s offer just to see how pissed off he can get Spencer.

“Hey, Mick,” Jax says, poking his head into Mick’s room.

He must have drawn the short straw this time around.

Sometimes he wonders exactly how dumb the rest of the team thinks he is. Do they honestly think he doesn’t hear them talking about him?

“What?” Mick grunts.

“Heads up, we’re gonna jump soon.”

“Where to?” Mick asks. He doesn’t actually care.

“2016. We got a message – they need our help.”

Mick’s still blinking when the door slides shut behind Jax.

 _Looks like your wish is going to come true_ , he writes.

 _Which one?_ Spencer replies suspiciously.

_We’re going back to 2016._

A long moment of silence from the phone.

 _Good_ , Spencer finally says. _I’ll see you there._

 _You don’t even know where we’re going to be_ , Mick protests.

 _I have H and P to back me up_ , Spencer types grimly. _Don’t worry about finding me. I’ll find you._

Normally, when people say that to Mick, it’s a threat.

Right now, though, he finds himself feeling rather comforted.

He puts down his phone.

Just a little longer, he thinks to himself, and gets out of his chair to go beat up the punching bag a bit more.

Just a little longer.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [True or False](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8708047) by [musicmillennia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/musicmillennia)
  * [The Arsonist Protection Job](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8756638) by [ajremix](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ajremix/pseuds/ajremix)




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